Autopilot

Apparently, I’ve reached the point in the Twisted Intent manuscript where active brain cells are no longer a strict requirement to writing it.

Despite having no sleep the night before, I was able to push out my word count goal yesterday with little problem.

Whether this development is good or just a wee-bit creepy, I’ll leave to wiser minds.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Payback

In an admittedly selfish move, I played hooky from my work yesterday afternoon and dragged the four-legged, furry muse out for an adventure. We had an incredibly fun “jaunt-by-car” out into the north Florida countryside. It was marvelous.

So, in return, last night my muse dragged me out of bed and into the dark Florida night 5 times for a little intestinal-upset adventure. It was not marvelous.

Sometimes, payback is literally a bitch.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Counterprogramming

I struggle not to react to every injustice in the world through my fiction. I often want to confront the beast of political stupidity head on. However, penning a scathing tale of inhumanity doesn’t tend to gel with a 50k word Romance.

So, instead, I offer counterprogramming to the hate. My stories offer a break from the heartlessness. An alternative to the spiteful rhetoric present everywhere you turn.

Is it enough? Of course not.

But it is something.

I comfort my troubled heart with that.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Fantastic Chaos

I am a bull.

Well, at least I was yesterday.

Barreling my way through all my fragile authorial insecurities, I crashed through this “You can’t” before knocking that “You better not” down on its haughty butt. And once I got all my writing done –yes, ALL-- I stood over the fantastic chaos and snorted like the uncastrated male bovine I had so righteously channeled.

Yes, ladies and gents, this girl had balls yesterday.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Touch of Meek

Psyched myself out yesterday like a real pen-wielding chicken.

Kept circling around Twisted Intent, clucking to the muse that “I’ve got this thing!” Problem was I just kept circling.

*sighs… then sneezes on a stupid chicken feather*

Apparently, I don’t wear confidence well. Meekness will be sported today.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Ducks in a Row

All my ducks are now in a row, as far Twisted Intent goes, and I’m feeling good.

I know exactly what has been done and what needs to be done in time for my February 28 deadline. Now, all that’s left on the table is the doing it.

I wonder if I could hire a stunt double for this part?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Debris

Watch your heads, everyone.

I’ve jettisoned Part Three of my newest novel, ejected it rather blindly right out of the Twisted Intent manuscript.

Alas, I have no idea where its remains might land, so heads up, dear readers.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Forest Found

Taking stock of “Twisted Intent,” I spread all its sundries out before me yesterday.

Luckily, its mishmash of scenes once cataloged properly produced a better result than I had feared. There is a novel there. My relief was ludicrously grand.

While tons of work still remains, as of the 23^rd of January at least, the forest had not been lost to its trees.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Price of the Silk Worm

Before the four-legged, furry muse and I cowered in the bathtub hiding from tornadoes, a remarkable spate of writing was done yesterday. Like ribbons of pressed silk, the words flowed out of me in flawless order. It was a rare, rare moment indeed.

Then came the tub.

Followed by 8 ½ hours of no power.

Apparently, the silk worm charges a steep price.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Limpet & the Rock

It’s very hard to concentrate when fear is rumbling around your head.

Yesterday, a large, pointy-ended pebble of “unreasonable concern” about the weather got stuck in my skull, cluttering up every thought with apocalyptic what-if’s. As a result, no writing was done.

So, a limpet of guilt now clings to the weather-worry rock as it tumbles around upstairs.

*sighs*

My mind is a laughably exhausting place to be most times. Be glad you’re not here.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Art of Skirting

Limitations. Every author has them.

Me? Hand-to-hand combat scenes. I avoid writing them like, well, a roundhouse kick to the old kisser. However, informed Chloe Stowe audiences will know that I’ve included them in my novels numerous times. How?

I skirt the issue. Getting around the obstacle without brushing its volatile little hide is an art. Sure, stealth and subterfuge are required to master this skill but so is hard-baked desire. Thankfully writers have that in spades.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-note: My ever-evolving panic disorder has taught me this skirting skill painfully well. However, I suggest avoiding this method of “art” school at all costs. 

The Virginal Bucket

Someday I will buy a piece of furniture that does not require sex with my screwdriver.

(Not quite what every 44 year old woman puts on her bucket list but there you have it.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-note explanation: Yesterday, four hours of screwing, hammering and cursing left me with a hulking shell of a bedroom dresser with no drawers. The drawers will require another 2 hours of banging today. Oh, how I long for my virginal days.

Flotsam & Banter

Once again I find myself sitting on the floor surrounded by dozens of little piles of plot. No matter how hard I try, or how carefully I plan, my novels all are born this way.

The final scene, almost but not quite, completed, lays at my right big toe. The opening scene, a dialogue skeleton, lies right beside it. A hodgepodge of sex scenes crowd my left hip, while banter spreads messily about all over the darn place.

A day of upkeep is in order, I’m afraid. *sighs*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Cover Up

A successful writing day had? Check. *spreads out proudly 588 words of useable, well, stuff*

Progress made on the Twisted Intent manuscript? Check. *nods sheepishly at the pile of syllabled stuff*

Discipline demonstrated in said writing? Pleads the fifth. *quickly throws towel over said stuff and distracts with freshly baked cookies*

Bottom line: Discipline can wait… as long as nobody’s looking.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Hum & the Drum

Oh, I do so hope humdrum days are ahead.

After a frenetic 5 weeks of holidays, family, scurrying this way and that, and doing everything but writing it seems, I am ready to settle down in my little Florida abode and wile away the solitary hours working like a fiend.

To start the feverish writing pitch with a bang, Riverdale Ave Books would like to republish all of my novels! How glorious that little turn truly is. More details as I learn them.

Now, on to the hum and the drum!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Remain

Apologies for the weird posting times. “Real life” popped up and threw up all over my shoes.

Normalcy should return Tuesday morning when the crisscrossing of the Southeast will have concluded with me and the muse back home. I do have superb news to share so please stop by!

Until Tuesday…

Chloe

A Question of Spine

Do I dare to self-publish? That, ladies and gents, is the question.

Ravenous Romance has just released to me the rights to 12 of my novels. Would self-publishing the reprints be foolish or brilliant? Perhaps adding an extra 10 to 20k to each effort to buff them up to 65 to 70k novels? An “Extended, New & Improved, Second Edition” kind of a thing?

Do I really have the spine to take such a leap?

Do I really have anything to lose?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Hooky Protocol

I played hooky yesterday.

Deserted my writing entirely and ran away to the beach.

I should feel inordinately guilty about this, but you know what? I don’t. Not an iota.

Bottom line: Embrace the naughty. It does the writer’s mind good.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Pointy Elbows

How much should a writer push a publisher? When do friendly nudges turn into annoyingly pointy elbows in the gut? When does silence speak for itself? When does an author simply move on?

Even after 8 years in the business, I haven’t a bloody clue…

And that, my dear friends, is simply infuriating.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Coldcocked Moments

Occasionally I get hit over the head with myself.

I will be going along at a relatively merry pace –writing at an acceptable trot, socializing decently well for a hermit with a big, needy heart—when “WHAM!” All my terribly broken bits coldcock me and leave me stunned and brutally ashamed on the floor.

I despise these moments.

I despise talking of these moments…

But I refuse to despise myself for these moments.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Our Little Parts

Inclusion versus exclusion. Society seems to be battling with this a little more than it should these days. (Really? What heart ever gained by subtracting?)

Anyhow, writers of our relatively “little” standing can still do our part. Make it a point to include all races, all religions, all nationalities, all hearts in your “little” stories.

Welcome the world to your fiction and the world just may welcome your words to their hearts.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe  

Power Write

Along the lines of a “Power Nap,” I attempted a “Power Write” yesterday.

Stone cold (with no priming the old authorial pump, no reviewing notes or other such prep work), I sat down with pen and blank paper in hand to see what I could do on Twisted Intent in precisely 20 minutes…

Yes, well, let’s just say the Power Write experiment will not be repeated.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe    

Woolly Gray

Does simplicity mean cardboard characters? Must a streamlined plot be populated with stick figures?

No!

Don’t let anyone tell you different.

Don’t let your scheming, yellow-bellied, desperate-for-a-honking-large-royalty-check insecurities tell you different.

Stuff your ears with woolly bits if you must. (FYI: I have woolly bits for each day of the week. Sunday’s are Dover Gray in color.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe in her Dover Gray

A Cure for the Saddle Sore

After struggling uphill with my writing every day since my return home, I finally enjoyed a bit of happy coasting yesterday.

My 400 words were not wrenched from my head with grubby pliers and bloody sweat, but came willingly, a tiny, wry smile upon each of their dear syllables.

Oh, I do live for such marvelous surprises.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Beautiful Place

Last things first?

Apparently the answer to that is “yes,” as my mighty 311 word effort yesterday went entirely to the final scene in Twisted Intent.

Working backwards isn’t usually my style but maybe there’s something strange and wonderful in the fictional Oklahoma air that turns endings into beginnings?... Hmm, what a beautiful place for a writer to roam.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Quick and Dirty

Sometimes you must treat your writing like a lover.

When things have turned predictable and stale, when sex is still had but breathless anticipation of it is not, surprise can be the cure. Corner your other in the kitchen, the foyer, behind a tree in the backyard and instigate a little “quick and dirty.” It is amazing what will come.

(I jumped my writing last night right after dinner and had a rowdy and productive romp with it on the living room floor. It was just what we both so needed.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe  

213 Words

I dragged 213 words out of my head yesterday. Kicking and screaming, spitting and cursing, they fought me every darn step of the way. Finally, I hogtied their unwieldy butts to the Twisted Intent manuscript and left them there to rot.

*sighs tiredly*

And how was your writing day?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Small and Curious Storm

I brainstorm scenes. Always have.

Once I get my characters fleshed out in my head, I build small, curious scenarios in which the lads can show their true selves. Quiet, fleeting moments that are rarely caught in most romances.

Like I said, I’ve always done this, but I’ve never written these brainstorms down… that is, until yesterday. Let’s see if this helps or hinders a novel’s process, shall we? I’ll keep you updated.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Claptrap & Doggerel

So, 2017 stretches out before us. Whether it is as a gaping chasm ready to swallow loved ones whole or as a whimsical oak whose twisted, sturdy branches dare one to climb up to dreams is, alas, beyond any of our prognostications.

2017 frightens and arouses me and I tremble in its presence.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-note: Might as well start off the new year with a spot of claptrap and get such foolishness out of the way. Back to my normal doggerel tomorrow.